


Being Back in the Wilds can be a Lonely Thing.

by barcodedDNA



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Angst, F/M, Ficlet, Past Relationship(s), Pining, Spoilers, wet dreams
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-15
Updated: 2014-07-15
Packaged: 2018-02-09 00:09:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1961445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/barcodedDNA/pseuds/barcodedDNA
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the Blight and after Alistair's coronation, she still wants Alistair.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Being Back in the Wilds can be a Lonely Thing.

**Author's Note:**

> Yo, I haven't finished Dragon Age but I wanted to write it anyway. But I do know Alistair becomes king and that causes pain in my Alistair/Morrigan ship. So here's a writing exercise of mine!

She hated mornings like this, clutching her pillow with white knuckles, sheets damp with sweat and need. It made Morrigan feel like a child again, an embarrassed child stumbling through the awkward stages towards womanhood. It always started, proceeded, and concluded the same.

With eyes, hands, and lips of a king, all over her, they worshiped the expanse of pale skin. He was not very religious, but he damn well prayed and whispered to the Maker when they were tangled in bed together. Gentle hands helped her hips onto his, filling her with his hot thick prick, whether he sat or lay. Strong hands pulled her to him in nights of satiable hunger and desperation. He needed it. She needed it. It ended the same every time - the deep, tense drop in Morrigan’s womb, coiling tighter and tighter, and she grabbed for something, anything, to keep her grounded. Whether it was his face, arms, back, hands, shoulders, she didn't care. She didn't care as long as it was Alistair because _oh Maker,_ please _don’t stop no don’t stop, I lov- I’m gon-_

And then she would awake in a mess, angry and unsatisfied, hips shaking with need. And ultimately alone. She would rise, bathe, and busy herself with herbs and potions, magic and scrolls, in her own little hut, out of sight and out of mind in the Wilds. Her heart, whether it might be along the shelves of jars and books, she wasn't sure where it was. So be it. It was better that way.

She knew it. Alistair knew it. The kingdom didn't know they knew it. There was no Blight anymore. Just this. Back to being a witch of the wilds, a character in bedtime stories where she belonged.

It was fine this way, truly. She convinced herself by this point. He had a duty and she belonged where she slept. No matter how much of her is missing. As there was no sight of the king since the end of the battle, she found it to certain she was nothing more than a mere memory, fading with the Blight, as he was a healing maw in his chest.

This... This entire pining thing... It was stupid. Morrigan hated it. She was warned, warned, warned. She was warned about men and love and how absolutely foolish it was to be someone's. But still, she hoped a hunt would pass by or... something; she didn't really give a damn. Some glimmer that he's still there, no matter how much she wanted to forget.


End file.
